Connection
by Imagining Impossibility
Summary: In all those months asleep there was always something missing; that connection. That connection she can only find with Nick.
1. Connection

**Well, I was making bread and listening to cheesy eighties pop music (yes, at one in the morning, when else?) when I wrote this! I hope it doesn't reflect too much...**

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The sudden harshness of the light shocks me as I flash open my eyes, tearing the eyelids that have stayed clamped tight shut for months apart and allowing myself to finally see. I can hear the same tedious beeping I've been listening to for the past five months but for the first time I can actually see its source; actually see where this beeping is coming from.

I slowly turn my head to the left towards the window, then to the right towards the plain wall livened up by but a single rather plain painting of two pots. I like the feeling of freedom, the feeling of being able to control my body, choose how I move and where I go. I haevn't felt these freedom for months; I've been confined and unable to choose how I move; who I am. I've been unable to be Yvonne Ripon. I shift myself slowly up the bed in an attempt to get as comfortable as I can when I hear footsteps. I watch with baited breath as the door handle is pushed down and jerk my head up to see who it is intruding upon my room.

I let out a gasp and for a moment I freeze, absolutely still, my eyes boring into the eyes of the man stood at the door. Then in a flash he thrusts the coffee in his hands onto the table and rushes towards me, clutching me tight in his arms. I feel tears spring to my eyes and a lump begins to form in my throat but they are tears of happiness, tears of joy, tears of pure delight. I lie still for a minute, still revelling in the warmth fo his embrace, in the arms of the only man I feel I can find comfort in. Nick Jordan.

Nick pushes away from me and tucks a loose strand of hair that lies obtrusively in my eyes behind my ears. He doesn't call the nurses; which is what he should probably do. he just sits there in front of me, looking at me, staring at me. I can see tears in his eyes too and as he finally calls for the nurse I can see the happiness that fill his facial features; the joy that has taken over his face; the pure delight that has filled his eyes like the emotions that fill my normally empty heart.

And I once again get the pleasure of feeling that connection I have not felt for months; feel that pleasurable tingle take over my body as I look into his deep blue eyes. That's when I realise that the thing I've missed most about being trapped in my own world is him. In my own world there is no Nick Jordan. In my own world I am alone.

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**This may be a one-shot, I'm not sure but I may decide to continue it. Would you like it to be continued? Either way, adios for now mis amigos! In the meantime please read and review and enjoy and remember I don't own anything! **

**-Checky x**


	2. What she wanted

**Yay! Multi-chapter fic after all! Thanks to my eleven year old sister for helping me write this chapter and thanks to RacingRosso and Amber French Chambers for the reviews. Sorry for all medical inaccuracies and I don't own anything you recognise.**

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I slowly slide my feet out of bed and slip them into the beige slippers that Nick must have brought from my home to here. The slippers that have lain discarded by my bedside for months because I have been unable to use them. The softness of them almost shocks me but I soon get used to the sensation as I begin to push down on my feet. The nurse is stood by me, supporting me as I try to regain strength in my feet. I know things won't be back to normal for a while yet but I wish they could be, I wish we could simply rewind, go back in time to before the riots when we were happy, when I was healthy.

I hate that the simplest tasks tire me out; I was once so capable, so strong. I hate having to rely on other people to get to places, hate not being able to move as I like, be who I want to be. I can't walk, I can't _work _and worst of all, I'm trapped in this room. One room. One plain, boring room. I slip back into bed and as the nurse leaves the room I turn my head to face the blank wall, knowing that tears and my eyelashes are fighting and the watery liquid is begin to well in my eyes.

They say it'll take me months, maybe even a year to get better. But I don't want it to take that long, I want to be better now, I want to have never been ill in the first place. They claim I'm lucky, lucky to be alive. I disagree. I'd rather be dead and independent than alive and dependant; I don't want to have to rely on other people. I want to be me, I want to be myself and I know that if I let other people run my life everything will go wrong. It's guaranteed. Trust me. That's why I fly solo, go freely and choose my own life without the help of anyone else. It's because I don't need anyone else; if I did I wouldn't have turned away the help of the world.

'Miss Rippon' I turn my head away from the wall and see the nurse stood at the door.

'Superintendent' I correct her 'it's Superintendent Rippon' she nods in response, acting as though she understands but I know she just thinks I'm weird.

'Superintendent Rippon, there's a visitor for you' she says

'Bring him in' I say, knowing it's Nick. I swear that man has no life outside this hospital; he seems to spend all hours in it, whether he be working or visiting me.

'Actually, it's a she' says the nurse, looking a little awkward and beginning to shuffle on her feet. She sees my facial expression change as my features tense up and my brow furrows but she doesn't wait for my verbal reaction, just hurries off to get this female visitor. I rack my brains, desperately trying to think of who else could possibly be coming to visit me. No-one springs to mind. I turned my family away years ago, almost chasing them out of my life. Maybe it's a colleague, though I can't think of anyone I was particularly close to; I certainly wasn't close enough to anyone for them to come and visit me. I am dragged out of my thoughts by the sound of the door opening and the re-entry of the nurse, this time accompanied by a girl with the same raven-black hair and grey eyes as me; the same pale facial features and slim figure. But I don't recognise her.

'Who are you?' I ask in the most superior voice tone I can muster, raising my head so my chin is tilted slightly upwards to make me look aloof and distant.

'Isla' she answers in barely a whisper 'Isla Rippon'

I shake my head. 'I don't know you' I answer 'are you a relative?'

She nods. 'I'm Isla Rippon and… and…' she begins to stutter and falter, looking scared 'I think you might be my sister' her voice tails off towards the end so I can barely hear her. Barely. I still hear her say sister.

'What?' I ask, my aloof position dropping and my jaw probably doing the same thing 'I'm your what?'

'My sister' she replies, and if she looked scared before she was now looking absolutely terrified 'I think you are my sister'

'I don't have a sister' I reply, still not believing her 'I was an only child'

Isla suddenly gets some determination from somewhere, gains some type of assertiveness and, with the same tilted chin I used to speak to her earlier, says firmly 'you _were _and only child but you haven't been home for twenty years, a lot has changed since you left. For a starter your mother-our mother- has died'

I gasp, unable to hold back the shock. 'Died?' I say, my voice beginning to wobble from tears. 'W-w-why did no-one tell me? Did you not think to contact me?'

'We tried' Isla shrugged 'but we couldn't track you, your number wasn't the same and you weren't living in the address we had for you'

I feel shivers taking over my body and I begin to cry uncontrollably, letting the tears fall and soak my sheets. Isla stands awkwardly in the corner of the room, shuffling and jigging about on her feet. She takes a step towards the bed and gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder. I clasp my cold hand round her arm which, I notice for the first time, is incredibly thin, pulling her in towards me._  
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'Please, don't cry' she says but her voice is thick and I know it's only a matter of time till the tears take over her as well 'she wouldn't have wanted you to' Isla tried to reason with me.

And I reply between sobs 'I know' I say 'but she's not going to get what she wanted'

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**Voila! You liked? Oui? No? Please tell me! Read and review! I'm not sure about this chapter and I'm not sure where this is going but all I know is these chapters are seriously short and I need to make them longer…**

**-Checky x**


	3. Help and sympathy

**Thanks to both reviewers of the last chapter- HermioneLumos and especially Meggi 'RacingRosso' who's now taken the time to review both chapters and is just about the only person who will happily discuss how amazing Rachel Shelley is with me! Thanks again to my sister for helping and once again, I don't own anything you recognise!**

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I don't know when I fall asleep and I've no idea what time it is when I wake up but I know when I do wake up, Nick is there, sat in his normal place with his hand on mine. I sit up, blinking; trying to recollect my thoughts and remember what events took place before I apparently fell asleep.

'There was a girl here' I turn to face Nick at the sound of his voice 'a young girl' he says 'about so tall' He puts his hand up to the air at about the four foot mark 'with long black hair. She looked a bit like a mini you if I'm honest, except that her hair was thin and straight and so was her body, she was tiny. Looked rather underweight if you ask me' he shrugs, trying to look unconcerned but I can tell he's curious as to who she is 'you know her?' he asks, accompanying his question with a small shake of the head.

I slowly nod as the memories wash back to me and suddenly find my head throbbing as I remember the small girl who graced my bedside last night and told me, informed me of the death of my mother. I nod again and Nick nods too, as though to egg me on.

'Well?' he asks 'who was she?'

'She didn't stay?' I ask, ignoring his question, sitting up straighter and looking desperately around, searching for Isla, hoping she'll be hiding somewhere.

'No' Nick answered 'she ran when I came in, just took off and sprinted out, off home I daresay'

'No' I say 'no, no, she can't have' I give my head another shake 'she- she's my sister'

'What?' Nick asks, almost shocked at what I've just told him as I was when I found out. I swing my legs out of the side of the bed opposite to the side Nick is sat on and take a deep breath in, preparing to stand for the first time in months.

'No, Yvonne' Nick springs out of his chair and is round the bed in a flash with one arm on my back and another just lightly touching my shoulder 'you can't even stand yet, let alone walk or run' he protests, trying to push me back down onto the bed without using too much force.

'Get off me' I say, losing my temper, almost raising my voice and using my arm to shake him away from me.

He steps back looking shocked and a little hurt and I instantly feel bad. 'I'm sorry' I say my voice down getting both quieter and lower 'I just… I just need to see her again, speak to her'

'Who was she?' he asks with his voice as tender and gentle as his touch as he helps me back in to bed and kisses me on the forehead.

'My sister' I reply, trying to blink back the tears that seem to be trying to escape, though I can't think why. I place my finger up to my eye and rub, attempting to brush the tears out of my eyes, trying to hide the feelings of loss and despair and complete and utter uselessness that seem to be warping my mind and consuming my thoughts.

'I never knew you had a sister' Nick says, his confusion evident 'I thought you were an only-'

'Child' I finished the sentence for him 'so did I' I say 'but I was wrong, wasn't I?' I try not to sound spiteful but can't help but put a little tinge of scorn on the tip of comment. I know none of this is his fault, he just wants to help. I suppose that's the problem. I wish I didn't need help. Don't get me wrong, I love Nick, I want him to understand and I don't want to be alone. I just don't want help. Friendship, yes but help? No. And sympathy? Definitely not.

There are some things Yvonne Rippon can do without in life. Help and sympathy are definitely among them.

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**Bit random but please review, I love reviews, they make me smile like this :D (I don't care if that is grammatically wrong Mr. Spellcheck!)**

**-Checky x**


	4. Good Samaritan

**Well, thanks to anyone who has reviewed, favourite or followed, I'm glad you're enjoying it! I'd also like to say thank you to Meggi for just being amazing to talk to about Rachel Shelley and Casualty! This chapter is a little different- it's written from Isla's perspective. Hope you enjoy! As always, I own nothing you recognise.**

I pull my hood a little further down over my head so it almost covers my face and zip the zip up just that tiny bit more, hoping it might make me just a little warmer. I blow on my hands and rub them together, then decide to crouch down in order to conserve body heat. I curl up into a tight ball, leaning against the bus stop post and watch as the world passes by. People hurry past, probably on their way home, on their way to a place they feel safe, a place they feel wanted. Some of them give me the odd sparing glance or tight smile but none of these things make me feel any better.

I shiver and rest my head back against the post. They probably all think I'm waiting for a bus home or a bus to someone else's home but I'm not. I'm waiting but I'm not waiting for a bus. I just happen to be waiting by a bus stop. I look around me and see a bus coming up towards the stop. I decide I've waited at this stop long enough and turn away, walking back up the road I've just come down; back up the road to the hospital.

The hospital that looms before me frightens me for some reason, though I can't imagine why. It is, after all, just a building but then, perhaps it isn't the building that frightens me, it's more what- who- is in the building that terrifies me. The sun is beginning to fight through the rain and I have to shelter my eyes with my hand and squint in order to see anything clearly. I continue to make my way in the direction of the hospital, not really sure where I'm going when a lady stops me.

'Excuse me; are you lost?' she asks. I look at her and decide she looks about in her late sixties, early seventies. Uh-oh. It must be obvious I don't know where I'm going.

'No' I answer truthfully. I may not know where I'm going but I'm not lost. 'Not all those who wander are lost' I say, trying to smile at her and sound as friendly as possible.

'Yes, but, are you on your own? Surely a girl of your age isn't 'wandering' as you put it, on her own?' she evidently looks concerned and is now staring all around, obviously trying to spot and adult who could- well, should- be accompanying me.

'Oh, well, no, I mean, yes' I falter 'I mean, I'm on my own at the minute' I say 'but I'm going to visit my mum, she's in hospital' I lie with a nod.

'Well, surely you didn't come on your own?' the lady asks, clearly concerned.

'Oh, no' I reply 'I'm visiting with my dad, I was just nipping out to get her some… some… some crisps' I say patting my bag 'all the crisps in hospital are stale and you know how awful hospital food is' I lie through my teeth, hoping she'll just leave me alone.

'Ah, Ok then, well, just let me walk up to the hospital with you, I want to make sure you get there safely' she says 'and that they let you in' she winks 'people are so tight on security these days, you don't want them making you wait outside'

I nod, forcing a smile and open my mouth to protest, 'no' she stops me, patting my arm 'I want no protestations, I am walking you to the hospital and that is final.' She declares and with that I give a gulp, before beginning to walk up towards the hospital. It is at this point I realise I'm going to have to go back inside and seeing as the only person I know in that hospital is Yvonne, I'll have to go and visit her again. Why did the old lady have to be so nosy? I daresay she was only trying to do the right thing but the right thing to her is definitely the _wrong _thing to me. All she had to do was walk passed and ignore me like everyone else. There was absolutely no case for her to be the good Samaritan. Not that I go in for all that bible lark, it just seems like the only way to describe what she did- an imitation of the bloody good Samaritan.

**Ok, I'm sorry for how short these chapters are, they're barely worth reading they're so short! Anyway, a bit of a boring chapter, I just needed a way for Isla to go back to the hospital (I didn't want to injure her!) and return to speak to Yvonne. Hopefully the next few chapters should contain a little more action! Sorry for the cursing towards the end :/ I'll have to put a pound in the curse jar if that's any consolation!**

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to follow, favourite and review!**

**-Checky x**


	5. When I grow up

**Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I've been busy with... life... and stuff... yeah... I need to stop using ellipses... but they are fun to do... Anyway, thanks to anyone who reads, review, favourites or follows and thanks especially to Meggi :D Rachel Shelley fans all the way! Hope you enjoy, from Isla's perspective again.**

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I am led up to Yvonne's room by a different nurse this time, different to the one who took me last time. It makes me wonder how many nurses work in this hospital, how many people go together in order to make it work. I keep my head down and drag my feet along the floor as I realise we are turning the corner, starting down the corridor Yvonne currently resides in. I shiver, wondering how she'll react, scared of the questions she'll ask, whether she'll hate me for leaving, hate me for coming back.

As the door is swung open and I hear the nurse say 'A visitor for you Miss Rippon' I push my chin even further into my chest and somehow make my eyes even lower, trying to avert the gaze I know will reach me as soon as I enter that fateful room.

It doesn't work. The gaze is still shot at me and even though I can't see it, I can feel it. Feel it boring into the top of my head, piercing right through to my brain and making my head ache like it's never ached before. I decide to face it, see it with my eyes and slowly raise my head up. Her stare meets my eyes which are now glistening with tears and I suddenly shoot towards her, pushing the man that sits by her bedside out of the way and simply flinging my arms round her neck, not caring about anything else. I sob into her shoulder and she cries into my hair, stroking my head like my mother used to. I see the man next to me tilting his head and faintly smiling. He leans back on a desk and without detaching myself from Yvonne's embrace I say 'who are you?'

'Me?' he asks and his voice is low-but-high, if you understand what I mean. He has a naturally low tone but when he says me? His voice it much higher than it would normally be. I know it. I can just tell. 'Yes, you' I answer 'who else would I be talking to?'

He shrugs, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. 'Not sure' he says 'I'm Nick' he answers my question 'Nick Jordan, clinical lead'

'What like a dog's lead?' I say

'No' he answers, tipping his head back and smiling 'like a clinical lead'

'He's basically a very important doctor' Yvonne says, pushing me out of her arms so I'm sat next to her.

'What's he doing here?' I ask 'is he looking after you'

'No' Yvonne says 'Nick's my partner' she answers.

'Oh' I nod, a small smile coming to my face. 'You weren't here last time I came in.' I say and I am about to ask him if Nick is short for anything when Yvonne speaks.

'Why?' She asks, suddenly grabbing me and gripping me on the shoulders, holding me up so my eyes are level with hers.

'Why what?' I ask, wiping the bag beneath my eye, drying it of tears.

'Why did you leave? Why did you come back?' Yvonne asks, giving her head a slight shake as she does. I watch as a rogue tear rolls down her cheek and listen as her voice cracks 'Why were you here in the first place?'

'Because' I say 'because you're my sister' I answer 'you're my sister, I had to see you. Mum and dad, they never stopped talking about you, telling me how much you'd achieved. They never shut up about how you were so brave, so admirable. How you left them to protect them. They never stopped saying how they hoped I could follow your lead. But I couldn't.'

'Couldn't follow me?' Yvonne asks, shaking a little harder as the tears begin to fall at a more rapid speed.

'I couldn't follow you because you weren't there, I had nothing to follow' I explain 'all I had was a photo of you and a few badly-filmed videos. I never met you and I wanted to. I wanted to see the angel, the miracle. I wanted to know why you were special. I wanted to be like you, I _want _to be like you. You're who I've always imagined being like, I want to be like you when I grow up.'

I see her swallow down a lump in her throat and realise I too have a massive lump in my throat. 'I'm no angel' says Yvonne, her voice now unnaturally high, the pitch changed by the tears that fall and soak her nightdress, soak my arm. She pushes a loose lock of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear in such a way I can't help but think of mum, think of the parent I've lost 'no miracle, what they told you, it was lies, Isla, lies. There is no reason, absolutely no reason to admire me. I should be the one who admires you and, you know, I want to be exactly like _you _when _I _grow up.'

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**Awww... Hope you enjoyed! Bit cheesy but hey, we all love cheese! (Unless you have a dairy allergy) please read and review, I really hope you enjoyed and I'll try update soon. Reviews mean the world, it only takes a second to drop me a line! (Hint hint!) Sorry for how short this is :/**

**-Checky x**


	6. Build a wall

**Well, I was doing my sister's engineering homework (I don't know why either) when I realised I should probably be doing better things with my life like… writing pathetic stories! Yay! (Everyone cheer now! I shall threaten you with a banana like a gun) Anyway, thank you to anyone who has reviewed, I really appreciate it :) Does anyone else find it easier to write when they're listening to 80's music? No? I thought not, I guess it's just me then :P This is told from Yvonne's perspective again and may be distressing... I'm not sure, if you find distressing things very distressing don't read it!**

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Isla is sat on the end of my bed, her legs dangling and swinging, tapping my bed every now and again, making it shake. She is humming to herself, I think I recognise the song vaguely but I can't quite catch it.

'What's that you're humming?' I ask, knowing the song sounds familiar. She slides of the bed, landing on the floor steadily with a bump and comes round to the chair by my bedside. She then opens her mouth and in a sweet, melodic voice begins to sing.

'Raindrops on roses and whisker on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens' I laugh and begin to join in 'brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favourite things' I twist her round and she laughs, her dark hair flowing behind her, swirling around her, almost engulfing her small face. I realise how much healthier she now looks, how there's a red glow in her cheeks that wasn't there when I first met her and a pretty sparkle in her eyes I hadn't noticed before now.

'Your coffee, madam' Isla turns and I look towards the door where Nick is standing, holding up a cup of coffee in a rather dramatic manner. He places it in my hands with a flourish and a bow and begins to giggle. 'And a chocolate bar for the little lady' he says, making the work 'chocolate' sound very French. He holds out a twirl for Isla and she takes it, thanking him in the same posh accent he has put on accompanied by a smile and a regal nod.

Isla rips open the bar and breaks off a piece, offering it to the two of us. We both refuse and she pops it in her mouth with a smile 'if you insist' she says and I smile while reaching out my hand to Nick. He takes it and gives it a squeeze before sitting down in the comfy- well, by hospital standards anyway- armchair. Isla has plonked herself down on the bed once more and is swinging her legs, munching on the chocolate bar. She pulls her legs up into cross-legged position, placing yet another mouthful of chocolate in her mouth when I decide it is time to address an important issue that has been playing on my mind.

'Isla, where is dad?' I decide to get straight the point rather than avoiding the matter in hand and beating the bush. I look up at her and see that as the question is answered a light that's been turned on in her is suddenly flicked off and it's as though a spark that's slowly been growing into a fire in her is suddenly being fought and put out, changed back to a pile of ashes. I see tears begin to glisten in her eyes and begin to wonder if I should have waited a little longer rather than asking now.

She shrugs in response but I know she's lying, I know she knows exactly where she is. 'Isla' I say, almost pleadingly 'where is dad? You need to tell me where he is' Isla turns her head to look at me, almost glare at me and I see how dull her face looks, how the pale features have returned and, if possible, it seems like she's lost weight in but five minutes as she looks so much smaller, so much more innocent and helpless, as though she's alone in the world.

'He likes gambling' she says with a shrug and I see how detached and emotionless she seems about the topic, how cold and uncaring her almost white face is. 'So he goes to the casino every night. I daresay that's where he is now'

'But where was he when you left?' I ask 'was he in the casino'

'I don't know' she says, spitting a little as she says though in a voice that sounds so scornful and full of spite I almost shrink back. Nick grasps my hand and squeezes it in a small act of reassurance and almost simultaneously with Nick's action, Isla sighs.

'Fine, he used to gamble a lot' she says and I can tell she's about to launch herself into a story 'and he was always down at the casino, wasting away our money and eventually, when we ran out of that, our belongings. He sold pretty much all the furniture in the house and then, eventually, the house itself. We got put out onto the streets but he didn't stop gambling, didn't stop finding horrible ways to get money and then simply gambling it away. We were on benefits, in a flat on an estate at this point and he still wasted our money.'

'Horrible ways to get money?' I ask, dreading to think of what she means.

'As he put it, he sold himself. And then, for some reason, he held off the gambling a little and I thought he was getting better. Turned out he was getting worse.' She sounds bitter, angry and spiteful but her face shows no emotion, holds no sign of feeling hurt or even the littlest bit betrayed. She looks completely distant and the only hint that she even cares is the note of despair and loss in her voice.

'What did he do, Isla?' I ask, trying to coax and answer from her somehow.

'He sold me. That's what he called it, he let grown men, he let them…' Her voice tails off and begins to crack and she suddenly begins to sob and through her voice I can hear hints of the words 'he let them rape me'

I didn't even know a nine-year-old knew that word. Then I remember, Isla is no ordinary nine-year-old. Isla has been through more in her short nine years of life than most people go through in eighty. On her shoulders lay so many issues, in her shadow lay so many troubles, troubles that follow her around everywhere she goes, that stalk her and exploit her at every opportunity. That crack open the shell she's trying to build around herself in a child's ways of protecting herself. She's built a wall to stop anyone hurting her but every now and then the wall comes tumbling down, crashing to the ground, cascading and shattering in millions of tiny pieces. And it takes a while to rebuild her wall but that's what I'll help her do.

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**Thank you especially to Meggi :D I own nothing apart from Isla. I hope you enjoyed!**

**-Checky x**


	7. Running away

**This is my last chapter :O Aren't you all so sad? No? I wasn't expecting you to be… It's from Isla's point of view if you were wondering and I still don't own anything, I have gained no more rights since I started writing this. Apart from the rights to Isla so actually that's a lie. Thanks Ella for helping with colours!**

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I've never told anyone about dad or about the men who came before. Mind you, I've never told anyone about mum before either; it's remarkable how little everyone knows me, interesting how little information I reveal about myself to others, to outsiders. Yvonne isn't really an outsider, she is, after all, my big sister so I can tell her all these things; confide in her.

Somehow, I get from a position in which I'm sat bolt upright at the end of the bed to a position which involves me lying with my head in Yvonne's lap. I've soaked her sheets and I'm sure they've soaked right through and made her pyjamas wet but she doesn't mention it. I don't know how long I was lying there for but it must have been a while because somewhere in between me returning to an upright position and getting to the lying down position in the first place Nick manages to go and get both him and Yvonne another coffee.

'One chock-full-of-sugar coffee' Nick says, holding out a cup to Yvonne, teasing her about the high amount of sugar she puts in her coffee 'one orange juice' he chucks me a carton 'and one perfectly normal, absolutely delicious coffee' he says, passing the remaining cup from his left hand to his right. It amazes me how jolly he manages to be in times like these, when both Yvonne and I have spent the past half an hour at least in tears.

'So when exactly in between gambling does dad get the time to talk about how wonderful I am?' Yvonne asks, furrowing her brow and changing her pitch of voice towards the end of the question, making it slightly higher and give the question a more inquisitive, innocent edge.

'Oh, all the time' I answer in between gulps of orange juice. 'When he's drunk, when I do something wrong, which, by the way, is a lot of the time, when I get home from school, when I do my homework. Whenever, really' I shrug 'he talks about you non-stop, how wonderful you are and how you're a police officer and you left them to protect them and how I should do something truly admirable like that. Why exactly did you leave them?' I rush through the basics of what dad says about Yvonne, before skipping to what is, in my eyes, the important part. Why she left them. I'm constantly being told about how she left them but I've never found out why.

'Because I worked on a case involving a very dangerous man who's now in prison' Yvonne began 'and he shot a man once but we had no proof it was him so he was still out there and when we tried to arrest him, despite lack of evidence, he said he'd get us back somehow. He got us back all right, the other officers on the case and I, he made our lives hell. He covered my house and our parent's car in graffiti, stole slabs from the wall and piping from the drain and sent death threats. I had to leave, for the safety of the family.'

'Why did you never come back though?' I ask, persisting with my enquiry.

'The time was never right' Yvonne replies, her grey eyes seeming sad and lonely, dulling a little 'I never knew what to say, how I'd return. I wish I had now, I wish I'd been there for you, been there to help you. You're everything to me, you and Nick, you know that? Everything' I notice Nick is actually no longer in the room and slide off the bed, slipping my feet into my trainers.

'Where are you going?' Yvonne asks, a note of panic rising in her voice. My voice tone changes too, it gets higher, begins to crack as though I'm crying.

'I don't know' I answer, shaking my head and running out of the room 'I really don't know' I whisper, seizing my rucksack and flinging open the door. 'Anywhere' I answer 'anywhere at all'

I run down the corridor and out of the door, there I see Nick, talking to a woman with a dark bob and a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to be explaining something to her but when he sees me he stops her and begins to run after me. I try to run away but he grabs onto my arm.

'Where are you going?' he asks.

'I don't know' I answer, shaking my arm away.

'Fine, why are you going then?' he asks and I freeze just as I'm about to run off. No-one ever asks me that. It's always 'where are you going' or I don't even get given the question, just the command of 'get back here right now'

'Because there's no point in me being here.' I reply 'Yvonne doesn't need me, you're the only she really cares about'

'Yvonne' Nick says 'is in a critical condition, both physically and mentally and you claim you're not needed.'

'Even if I was needed it wouldn't matter, would it?' I say 'who really cares how she's feeling? Whether she's better? Does it _really _matter' I spit and the spite in my tone shocks even me.

Nick looks shocked and almost hurt. 'It matters to me' he replies as he re captures me arm. 'And it matters to you' he says, almost pleading with me. I yank my arm from his grasp.

'No. It. Doesn't.' I answer harshly 'She can go die for all I care' and with that I run off, immediately hating myself for what I said. I hear Nick shout after me but I can't turn back now, I can't bear to see the same hurt that was in his eyes in Yvonne's eyes. I can't bear the look of betrayal, the force of facing either of them after that row. And so I do the only thing I know, I run. As fast and as far away from the problem as possible.

So I'm back on the street again, living the life I lived for the six weeks prior to meeting Yvonne. I'm back out in the cold, sleeping rough, under bridges and in doorways, avoiding drunks and druggies and, above all, finding food. I get by, stealing and begging but my already thin frame is weakened and I know I'm just skin and bones now, slowly shrinking and becoming more and more malnourished by the day.

I count my fingers then spread out my palms, stretching them and looking at the way the cracks of dirt have filled the little gaps and the dust has collected up in between my fingers. My palms are dry and I'm worn out, tired, exhausted and, above all, cold. I have my big coat on but it's nothing to protect me against the icy frost of the winter that stings my skin and nips at my face, nothing compared to the fierce wind I have to fight against.

I know I could be back at the hospital with Yvonne and Nick, safe, dry and warm, everything I'm not now but I don't want to be. The way I see it is that if I'm not there there's nothing I can ruin. If I'm gone, so are all their troubles; they can go on with life as normal, live their life in the way they deserve, be happy and free. I don't mind being unhappy but if I make other people unhappy I know there's something wrong, something that's no-one's fault but mine.

I walk into the train station and I'm instantly shocked by the warmth being under a simple shelter can give. I slide onto a plastic seat, lined with chewing gum, and curl up into a ball, drawing my knees up to my chest. I sit there for a while, completely still, and watch as the trains pass by, counting them in my head, watching as the people's faces whizz past me, trying desperately to count the people to whom I mean nothing. It strikes me how insignificant I am; how the words I said a few weeks previous to Nick might have some truth in them; how if I were to die it would affect but a minute part of the world, but a speck of the earth. My problems are less than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, my life is but a grain of sand on a beach filled with thousands.

I watch as another train passes. The sixth train. And I look at a girl who can't be much older than me, who's standing, leaning against the wall and looking at me. Her eyes are blue and her gaze captures me and her straight light blonde hair is worn down, hanging by her shoulders with her fringe over her eyes. She's holding a book and wearing a beret, she looks like the model child.

But behind those brilliant blue eyes I can see a sadness; a feeling of self-hatred and behind the calm, confident exterior lies a lonely girl with no-one to turn to. A girl rather like me. Only I have Yvonne. And maybe Nick. I have people I can trust, people who care about me. I have more than the girl stood by the platform, two more people who love me, two more people who care what happens to me. I may only be a speck of dust or a grain of sand but you can't have a beach without millions of sand grains, everyone is needed somewhere.

I ran away from the people who cared for me because I felt insignificant.

I ran back because sometimes it's best not to matter too much, as long as I have a small purpose I can make a small difference.

* * *

**Yay! The end! Big thanks to HermioneLumos and Amber French Chambers and especially to Meggi (RacingRosso- check out her Nick and Yvonne stories fi you haven't already! They're amazing!) and biggest thanks of all goes to Ella, my sister, for all the colour help. Thanks for reading and following and reviewing :)**

**-Checky x**


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